


Matthew 7:15

by DisneyPhantomlover



Series: False Protagonists [5]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: False Protagonists AU, Other, Sammy is Boris, a fic I've been thinking of for a long time since CH 5 came out, but an explanation, no real happy endings in this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:55:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24493849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisneyPhantomlover/pseuds/DisneyPhantomlover
Summary: "Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep'sclothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves."Boris was Sammy.... But then he wasn't. This is the continued story of the lost black sheep who appeared in the last chapter of the Ink Machine.
Series: False Protagonists [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/747171
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10





	1. Getting the Bearings

**They'd get outta here. He knew they would. They just needed to get to the lift first. And avoid upsetting the mean "Alice". But he needed time to get used to this strange, full body again. And the human man to his right needed time to recover from the upper floors. One day wouldn't hurt...**

**He'd been here so long, one day couldn't hurt anymore then the others.**

**One day would be enough for now.**

**...Though, it was a little strange. Something about this image, sitting next to Henry, watching his side rise up and down with his breath, and eyeing the door… It was familiar. He wasn’t even sure how it was familiar, but it was. Then again, he was borrowing someone else’s body. It would make sense that he would recognize things even though he himself hadn’t experienced it. Like how a cat recognized a toy as prey, even if they’d never seen a bird or been outside. Some things, the body just knew.**

**Including these odd feelings of….loyalty? He felt obligated to watch over this Creator. He could reason and say it was because Henry was important. He had to be if the Ink Demon was going after him like this. But… “Important” ran a little deeper than that. Henry was special, he was someone that he would’ve wanted to protect even if the Ink Demon hadn’t taken interest in him.**

**He shook his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts plaguing his mind. He didn’t need to do this right now. He needed to watch Henry and keep him safe.**

**That’s all that mattered.**

* * *

When Henry woke up next, he found that Boris was still sitting right beside him. Rather, sleeping sitting up beside him. It was a fairly amusing sight, with the wolf’s arms crossed in front of his chest, his head bobbing as he gave rather loud snores. He could remember animating this exact motion for the wolf years and years ago, and seeing it in live-action was both fascinating and eerie. He pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing at the dull pain in his wrists when he had shifted his weight to them. That wasn’t good. Pulling one arm into his lap, he used his opposite hand to roll up the sleeve of his sweater to view the cause of the pain. The thick, angry, red marks that were on his wrists complimented the indents of rope marks. He almost expected bruising, but the rope must not have been tight enough for that. 

…. Sammy had tied him up, but not that tightly. The marks were most likely from him leaning against the bondage while he was unconscious, then strong-arming through the ropes when he woke. 

God. Just thinking about what had happened to Sammy was enough to make him sick. He held onto his wrist, curling over as the vivid memory of only a few hours ago permeated his mind. His friend… The man who sang him to sleep, carried him on his back, been there for him when no one else had been… One third of their little Army of Three…. Was that ink-covered, terror of a man. So lost he couldn’t recognize Henry’s face…. Wearing a mask to emulate Bendy’s face… He’d almost called him a monster, but that title had been taken by the Ink Demon. What had happened here?! How had everything gone so horribly wrong?? What on Earth had Joey been up to? …..Why had he been called here? Why had he followed in so blindly? 

His vision began to swim, and it was only then that he realized he’d forgotten to breathe. He forced himself to take a steady breath in, holding it for a second, and breathing out. It took a moment to get a steady rhythm going, and even longer to stay at that consistent rhythm, but it was better than the alternative. He rubbed at his wrist, thinking that rubbing the indentations would make them go away faster. Sometimes, when he was not in the right mind and he hurt himself, he would bite down on his own arms. When he rubbed at those marks, they tended to go away faster. 

….

Being down here was not good for his mental health. 

Swinging his legs to the side, he carefully got up from his cot and walked to the restroom. He knew he was covered in ink, but he’d feel better looking at the rest of himself. And well, he needed to freshen up. Get his mind off things. 

* * *

**The sound of running water accompanied Boris’s first thoughts waking up. It was always a gamble falling asleep, given what madness he could wake up to. First, he checked himself. Patting his chest: a long scar down his torso, and a thumping heart. Patting his face: yep, still a long snout and long ears, with a nice round nose at the end. A quick look at his hands: bulbous gloves with four fingers, proving he was a proper cartoon character. He turned his head to the hallway, and he could hear small hums from Henry over the water.**

**So far, so good. Stretching his arms above his head, Boris let out a long yawn, almost popping his jaw as he did. Then he swung his feet out, jumped out of his chair, and started his sauntering walk over to the main room. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he needed to find something for Henry at least. ...Maybe Bacon Soup? It was his favorite, for sure. And it was surprisingly easy to find here in the studio.** Anything was better than ink. 

**Last night, he’d removed the door’s lever for Henry’s sake…. Hidden it in his front pocket. But now that the human was distracted in the washroom, he didn’t have to worry about Henry following him outside of the safe room. It was easy enough to pull it out and slide it back into its slot to open the door. It made a small bit of noise, but nothing too loud to alert Henry… Or anything else that was outside.**

**The Ink Demon wouldn’t come here…. Nor would that twisted Alice. At least he hoped. And if someone did, the Miracle Station at the end of the hallway was a good place to hide.**

**He sighed deeply, trying to keep his steps light as he walked down the hallway. As he turned the corner, he spotted a figure by a doorway. A stranger! His fight or flight instinct immediately jumped to fight, raising his fists for a fight and bearing his teeth at this being.**

**Apparently, though, this being’s fight or flight had jumped to freeze. Bulbous gloves covered a face, but they weren’t large enough to cover a long snout. Long ears quivered in fear, as did the being’s legs. He was the picture of fearful.**

**Though that was overshadowed by the fact that this being was another Boris.**

**….**

**Oh great. More existentialism for the day.**


	2. Switching It Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boris meets his copy... And things only go down hill from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning, there is a long section involving choking and hacking up a foreign object. And not being able to breathe.

**Boris lowered his fists, taking another deep breath and breathing out slowly. Life was already weird enough as is, why not meet a scared doppelganger of himself? The other doppelgangers that would be around here were dead, some tied to tables and others cut open.** Why did that scare him so bad? Was it because he had his own scar on his chest? He was dead. He was dead before.  **… No. His body had been dead. Not him. ...Maybe. There was a rather distinct difference there, and right now was not the time to consider that distinction. He tried to loosen his fists, forcing himself to be the calm wolf in this situation. Pushing his own bubbling emotions down was no easy task, but what else could he do at this moment? Panic? All that’d do is start a change reaction of more panic and fear, and then they’d be found out. No. Right now was the time to be patient.**

**He took a few steps toward the worried wolf and reached his glove out to the stranger. The copy nearly jumped out of his skin when the hand made contact with his shoulder, but Boris remained steady. The copy looked between the hand and Boris’s face a few times, only relaxing when he realized he wasn’t going to be hurt. Boris forced a small smile and gave the shoulder a small squeeze. A fleeting thought crossed his mind as the copycat wolf pulled his own arm up to pat at his. What poor soul was used for this one? This Boris was a friendly one, even if he was scared of his own shadow and a bit of the cowardly type. Didn’t bother him none; it was a good idea to be mindful of your own mortality. Especially in this hell of a studio.**

**The copy smiled a crooked smile, and Boris’s heart gave a small lurch. He could recognize that weak smile a mile away… And if he took into account this Boris’s behavior… There was no doubt. This was that young Pole** he’d **scared.** He’d  **hurt the kid, his body’s mind stuck in the ink and the strange control of someone else… Damn. In some way, he’d hoped that** Art Department **had gotten out. The fact he hadn’t… It made Boris sick.** He **remembered how unfair and mean he’d been to the Pole. He couldn’t name those moments right here and now, and worse yet, he couldn’t remember the kid’s actual name. But he could see the fear in the kid’s face, the quick looks away to avoid his gaze….** He’d  **been too angry and wild… And now here the kid was, in the same position as him. His body...Soul… Mind… borrowed for this cartoon wolf’s.**

**Poor** buddy **… His body was older than this kid’s. Why couldn’t Joey have stopped with him?**

**...He wanted to say he was sorry.**

**Boris opened his mouth to attempt speaking, but stopped abruptly as something thick stuck in his throat and immediately cut off his air supply. He coughed out in surprise, bringing his other hand to cover his mouth as he bent at the waist. Every time he tried to catch his breath, he couldn’t. Coughing seemed to be the only thing to help force out whatever was stuck. The other Boris had backed up at the sudden fit, too dumbstruck to do anything as the coughing wolf slid to his knees.**

Hands around his throat! Can’t… breathe! CAn’T BREaThE!!

**The wolf held his stomach, small tears gathering on his eyes as he hacked and coughed. He couldn’t BREATHE! Something heavy and pulsing and thick was in his throat, and he couldn’t-**

**Footsteps. He could hear footsteps running to their location.**

**OH NO. They’d been found out! Henry-....Henry wasn’t safe! Neither was this copycat wolf!**

**He looked up, the other Boris hesitantly reaching forward to try and help him. He slapped one of the hands away, pointing at the open door he’d walked out of. When the other Boris failed to move, he pointed furiously at the door again. He had to get out of here! He needed to be safe!**

**His coughing fit returned with a vengeance as he choked on the obstruction in his throat, and he sagged to the floor. Tears clouded his vision, but he could hear the steps of the copy running behind him, and of the door slamming shut. Maybe there was another noise, he couldn’t hear anything anymore.**

**His stomach burned… It hurt so badly… He couldn’t breathe… He couldn’t think….**

**With a heave, he punched himself in the stomach, trying to hit his diaphragm. He punched again and again, aiming for what would’ve been right under his ribcage. Just as his vision was beginning to black out, the thick obst** ruction in his throat finally dislodged and landed on the ground in front of him. It landed with a wet splat by his knees, but it took him a moment to catch his breath. 

…..

What… What had just happened? 

His eyes peeled open, and he was horrified to see the inky heart that was by his knees. It was covered in the stuff, but he had a sinking suspicion that some of that slick shine on the heart was from him… 

This thing nearly killed him! He fell back on his rear, trying to back away from the heart. He stared at it in horror before daring to look at his surroundings. This hallway… He didn’t recognize it. It was so dark and claustrophobic… How did he travel down here? 

Why was he here?! Last he remembered… He was in… 

The old room with the beams. He’d tried to give the strange human who waltzed in to the Ink Demon. To Bendy…

...

Instead, he’d been thrown to the floor, choked out until he couldn’t breathe only to have something shoved down his throat. From there, he couldn’t remember anything that had happened. Maybe he’d died… Only to be resurrected in the Ink as something else. He had no real answers, but one realization that hit him like a punch to the gut.

He’d… failed. And he’d been punished for his failure by his Savior. 

He pulled a blackened hand to his face, a wet, shuddering breath escaping him. He failed. He’d tried so hard… Did the last eight years mean nothing to his Savior? One mistake, one he couldn’t even understand or comprehend, and this was how he was treated? He’d done all he asked. And yet...

...He was nothing. He was insignificant. 

He held his knees close to his chest, his mind running away from him and thick tears of ink ran down his face. A few shuddering breaths shook his emaciated body before he threw his head back. A sorrowful howl ripped from his throat, straining his already bruised throat as his wail echoed into the hall. Why couldn’t he do anything RIGHT?! Drew was RIGHT about him, he was a stubborn, useless bastard who couldn’t even die when he needed to! He’d failed…

He failed…

And Bendy would not set him free. All those souls… All the Lost Ones and Searchers that were stuck here, innocent of any wrongdoing… Stuck here because he failed. The twisted Alice would never see the light above again, and the Projectionist would never regain his mind. That Searcher with the bowler hat… Would be stuck here. Doomed to fall apart again and again. Because he FAILED. 

The Ink Demon hated him. He knew it. What Savior would feel mercy to a failure?

His Savior was not an all-forgiving one.

He stayed there in that hallway, sobbing and crying as reality fell down around Sammy Lawrence. He was never going to get the others out. His work had been for nothing. And no one would ever know what happened here. He was never to make a difference. 

* * *

**The two in the safe house stayed there, not able to hear the crying unless they pressed their ears against the door. Henry didn’t bother to do so, even though that wail of despair had unsettled him deeply. Boris, on the other hand, had pinned himself against the door, keeping one ear to the door and the other acting as a mood indicator. The crying was painful to listen to… And he almost wanted to open the door. But he knew that voice. Any air of superiority had been stripped away, and the contrast was...bizarre to say the least. But that other Boris had insisted he run in here. And hey, he’d found this nice old man to be safe with. He said his name was “Henry”, and he vaguely wondered if that had been the man who’d been in the studio before he worked there. It was possible, but the world couldn’t be that small, right?**

**As the crying petered out and it became harder and harder to hear, Boris pulled his head from the door, turning slightly so he could lean against it. Even if Sammy was quieter now, he didn’t dare want to go out if that lunatic was outside the door. Much less if he was distressed. Sammy Lawrence was a violent man under normal circumstances, who knew how he’d react to someone finding him like that.**

**Still. He could be grateful for that other Boris. Even if this Henry didn’t realize the two Boris’s had switched places yet, at least the two of them were safe. Now he just hoped that the other Boris was okay… That he was safe from Sammy Lawrence. A dumb hope, but hey, that’s all he could have in this place.**


	3. Slipping and Slipping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy Lawrence can't catch a break since he slips over everything. So he slips further... And further.

Sammy Lawrence. 

What was he, really? 

He was lost for one. He’d had his cry, and despite the overwhelming sadness that still consumed his being, he knew he had to get somewhere safe. Safe from the Ink, from Drew… From his Savior. Where that was, he didn’t rightfully know right then and there. But he had to make an effort. Wiping at his face, he attempted to stand on shaky legs. He almost crashed right back to the floor, with something slick coating the bottom of his feet. He stiffened his legs and locked them in place, but the shock had made more ink drip down his back. A wave of dizziness washed over him, making the world a blurry haze and forcing him to lean against a wall as he tried to find his balance. He tried to wipe at his mouth, only smearing more thick ink across his face. 

Once his vision sharpened again, his eyes settled on the dark Inky Heart. It still made him sick to look at it. It’d damn near killed him. ...Still. Maybe it’d be best if he grabbed it… Before that grotesque version of Alice found it… Used it for her twisted vanity. 

Swallowing heavily, he inched toward the gross heart on the ground and started to reach for it. It pulsed slightly, and Sammy had to look away to gag for a moment. That had been inside him and it WAS MOVING?! “Disgust” was too light a term to describe what he felt. He had to do it quickly. Closing his eyes, he lunged a hand out to grab it. But just as his fingers touched the slick heart, an inhuman screech echoed in the hall. He jumped, his own heart caught in his throat as his eyes popped back open. The Projectionist -Norman- was close! And he’d spotted something. 

Never a good thing.

He scrambled back down the hallway, his feet unable to get purchase on the ground and forcing him to slide in place. As soon as he saw the bright light illuminating the side of the Miracle Station, he became more frantic. He grabbed at the walls, pulling himself forward when his feet couldn’t work. Desperation mixed with determination made him go forward. But it wasn’t enough. He knew that. The Projectionist was much steadier on his feet. And worse yet, he was fast. 

Just as Sammy threw the station’s door open, he felt a large hand wrap around his neck. The grip was bone crushing, choking! He rabidly tried to grab the offending hand and kick off the Projectionist, but his own fingers couldn’t get a grip through the ink. He scrambled harder; he could feel the heat of the Projectionist’s light on the back of his head, hear the whirring of film….

BANG!

Sammy screamed as he felt pain blossom in his forehead. He couldn’t scream when it happened a second time. Or the third. His head was being bashed into something, and he couldn’t stop it.

Would he allow himself to get killed again?

_ Useless. _

**_WORTHLESS!_ **

He kicked again, with as much force as he could muster. His foot made contact with something, and the noose-like grip on his neck loosened. Not completely, but enough for a greedy gulp of air. The blood pounding in his ears was louder than the metallic screech of the Projectionist, and Sammy clawed at the hand again. This time, he was let go. He all but fell into Miracle Station’s door, tucking close to the handle and leaning backward to shut the damn thing. He took another breath in just as the hulking monster of Level 14 slammed into the door. Sammy held his breath as the Projectionist stood up again, searching for it’s lost prey. 

He prayed in that instant, gripping the door’s handle with all his might. For who he prayed to, he didn’t care, he just didn’t want to die again!

…

It felt like an hour and a second all at once before anything happened. The Projectionist gave a metallic groan before it began to stomp off ag ain. It stayed in the hallway, and Sammy could see him lean down to pick up the disgusting Ink Heart before stalking away. The sounds that emanated from the creature faded away as he disappeared, until all that Sammy could hear was the pounding of his heart. He reached up to his forehead, wincing as he touched the concave dent of ink. He immediately wished he hadn’t; nausea and fresh disgust overwhelmed him in an instant. 

The door was pushed open, and Sammy tried to take a step outside of the Miracle Station. First step went alright, but the second step wasn’t as steady, and he slumped against the opened door. The walls were swimming around him, making this damned headache worse. 

“....Heh…” ~~Why was he laughing?~~ “...Heh heheh HEH…” ~~Why not?~~ “HehHAHHAAHAhahaHEH!” 

He let his head hang as hysterical laughter shook his whole body. It was downright ridiculous! Why couldn’t he just die?! Everything, from Joey to his Savior, to the Projectionist, and even his own heart was trying to! 

He was like a COCKROACH. A gross, angry, disgusting bug… Determination in a small black package. Meant to be SPLATTERED against a WALL!

~~A small voice in his head tried to tell him to be quiet, he could attract the monsters in these levels.~~ Sammy kept laughing as he pushed himself to stand on his feet again. The laughing pittered out, but the hysteria remained. It bubbled inside his chest and gave him a surge of happiness he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Well come on then! TRY AND KILL ME!” A fist pounded against his chest to enunciate. “GO AHEAD! I’ve died… What? Twice already! Let’s make it THREE! OR FOUR! Or Hell, let’s go crazy! COME AT ME! You can’t do anything worse to me!”

Silence was all that answered him, and Sammy laughed at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember kids, if you get a concussion, you might experience lightheadedness, dizziness, nausea, and memory issues. Don't leave concussions untreated.


End file.
